


And to All a Good Night

by going rogue (onlyastoryteller)



Series: A Room For The Night [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/pseuds/going%20rogue
Summary: It's the night before Christmas Eve, and Armie is feeling nostalgic and lonely. Good thing Timmy has a surprise in store.





	And to All a Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist writing a little bit of Christmas fluff. 
> 
> Keep in mind that the stories in this series do not necessarily link in any consistent timeline. Think of them more as thematically related than as part of one story.
> 
> I've been so lucky to have found this fandom. 
> 
> Thanks for being amazing, and Happy Holidays!
> 
> (Of course, 100% fiction, I wasn't there.)

Hiding in the basement bathroom wasn’t the way Armie had expected to be spending the night before Christmas Eve, and yet…

...here he was, sitting on the cold tile floor behind a locked door with the steam fan on, baby monitor by his side, waiting for his phone to ring. It wouldn’t actually ring, of course. It was on silent. Which was why he was watching it so closely, so he didn’t miss the call.

He tried not to feel guilty about this. The kids were asleep, his in-laws were busy getting ready for the festivities of the next couple of days. His wife was in Texas, dealing with last minute bakery stuff, and would join them the following afternoon.

There was nothing wrong with wanting to spend a little down time talking to his best friend. Who was halfway around the world at the moment, too far away for there to be anything wrong with this at all.

He wasn’t hiding. He was just…

The screen lit up, and Tim’s face beamed at him. The photo was old now, from back when they were in Rome during the promo tour.

_Rome_.

Nope, can’t think about that.

Armie hit the button to accept the call and there was the Tim of today. His hair was shorter and the planes of his face had gone more angular, somehow giving him even more defined cheekbones...but it was still Timmy.

“Hey! Merry almost-Christmas!” Tim waved and grinned, and Armie grinned right back.

“Hey yourself. How’s Paris?” he asked. “What have you been up to?”

Tim shrugged. “You know. Hanging around. Pauline says hi.”

“Hi back,” said Armie.

“Where are you?” asked Tim, squinting at the screen.

Armie gave a self-conscious laugh. “Bathroom. I thought it would be...privacy.”

“Time at the in-laws going that well?” teased Tim.

“They’re fine,” said Armie. “Great. I just...I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

Tim’s face went soft, as he tilted his head to the side. Armie felt a pang for a moment, remembering how Tim used to do that and his curls would swing to the side. And then Armie could reach out and run his fingers—

“You wanted to be alone,” said Tim. “Even if you’re with people you love, sometimes you need a little space for yourself. I get that. It’s not stupid.”

How was it that Tim always knew how to say the right thing? He complained that he was constantly putting his foot in his mouth, but when it counted he was right there with the words that made Armie’s demons settle down and retreat.

“What about you?” Armie asked. “Where are you? That looks like a pillow.”

“I’m at the hotel,” said Tim. “And yes, Sherlock, that’s a pillow. I’m lying in bed. Do you know what time it is in Paris?”

Armie did the time zone math, and cringed. “I’m guessing around three-thirty in the morning?”

“Give the man a prize.”

Armie smiled softly at the screen, seeing the early morning hour in his friend’s face now that he was looking for it. The vague shadows under Tim’s eyes, the puffiness around his mouth, the way his hair stuck up a little on one side.

“You didn’t have to call in the middle of the night,” said Armie.

“You set the time,” said Tim. “You said it would be easier to talk after the kids went to bed.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think. You should have said something.” Armie sighed. “We didn’t _have_ to talk tonight.”

“Yes we did,” said Tim.

“Why?”

“You asked.” Tim said it simply, without further explanation, and the fact that he could do that and trust that Armie would get it made Armie’s heart swell.

He _had_ asked. That morning, he had woken up at Liz’s parents house and felt...lost. Here was another year almost gone, one that had seen a lot of work — a lot of _good_ work — and a lot of travel and a lot of everything else. He had had fun. It had been a pretty decent year. And yet…

...there were things that he didn’t have, that he couldn’t have, and he felt like his life would never be complete without them.

Talking to Tim on a day like today, one of his morose and brooding days, was a blessing and a curse.

“Why did you? Ask?” Tim was frowning at him, and Armie realized he must have gone silent for longer than was acceptable.

Armie shrugged. “I missed you,” he said. “I got sort of used to having you around again and then ‘poof’ you were gone.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “And it’s going to be forever before I see you, with all the filming. I just didn’t want…”

“You didn’t want me to forget your face?” Tim giggled. “Fat chance of that. I know yours almost better than my own.”

Armie grinned, picking up on Tim’s tone. “Yeah?”

“I spent hours tracing it with my fingers. And my nose. And my lips,” said Tim. “Or have you already forgotten our summer romance?”

“ _Never,_ ” said Armie, a little too intensely. Then he cleared his throat. “How could I? It was the summer romance of a lifetime, after all.”

“Of a lifetime,” said Tim. He was watching Armie closely now. “And then, of course, there were the hours and hours I’d study your face until I could tell what you were thinking before you thought it.”

“You do always seem to be one step ahead of me,” said Armie. “How is that? You’re the one whose every thought plays out on your face like broadcast news.”

Tim glanced away, and then back. “Maybe not every thought,” he said softly.

“Oh? What are you keeping from me? Big secrets?”

Tim shook his head. “No secrets. I just meant that if you could read _every_ thought—hey, so what do you have going on tonight? Anything?”

“Nope. I’m clear. Kids are asleep and the in-laws don’t really want me in their hair.”

Tim licked his lips, and Armie followed the path of his tongue, cursing himself, as always. He tried to remember that Rome was ages ago, and Crema was even further in the past. Dwelling on memories that were best forgotten was getting him nowhere.

“Think you can get out for a bit? Leave the house?” Tim asked.

Armie squinted at Tim, noticing the way his green eyes had begun to sparkle. Tim was up to something.

He thought about Tim’s question. His mother-in-law was baking, and wouldn’t mind if he asked her to keep an eye on the baby monitor. He could say he had a last-minute errand to run. “Probably. But why?”

“I’m going to need you to blindly trust me,” said Tim. “But I need you to go get your Christmas gift.”

“You need me to go _get_ it? What the hell did you get me?” asked Armie. “And I thought we said no gifts this year.”

“Yeah well...I broke my promise. You can yell at me later. For now, put your shoes on and get in the car.”

Armie was already on his feet. “Where am I going?”

“One step at a time,” said Tim. “I’m going to hang up. Call me back on voice only when you’re in the car.”

Armie rolled his eyes but said, “Fine. This better be good.”

He expected Tim to grin, but Tim’s face got suddenly serious. “Well that will depend on you,” he said. “But I’m hoping.”

The screen went black then, and Armie was left wondering what the hell Tim was talking about.

Ten minutes later, Armie was sitting in his rental car, his mother-in-law having hustled him out the door with some good-natured scolding about leaving things to the last minute. He started up the car, gave it a minute to heat up, and cued up Tim’s info.

His finger hovered over the call button. After all this time, the thought of talking to Tim — even though they had _just_ talked to each other — made his stomach flip in anticipation.

It was fucking ridiculous at this point.

Who the hell fell in love with their best friend? Their _male_ , _straight_ , totally not interested, best friend? While _married_? Fine, his marriage was mainly just for show at this point, but still.

What was not normal was not being able to let go of something that he had never really had in the first place. Crema was just...acting. Tim wasn’t actually into what they were doing. It was Armie’s stupid fucking fault for getting confused. And he was supposed to be the seasoned professional.

Of course, there was Rome, but...Armie was beginning to think he might have imagined that. He might have imagined the pulsing beats emanating from Timmy’s phone on a loop all night, the flowing prosecco, eating prosciutto off of Tim’s…

He thought maybe he had imagined it, since they had never mentioned it after the fact.

_Cool it, Armand,_ he scolded himself. _Just move on. You’re lucky the kid still talks to you. Be happy with that._

He hit the button and held his breath. Sometimes it was worse to be able to _hear_ Tim and not see him. That disembodied voice, being able to imagine Tim however he wanted. 

“You in the car?” Tim asked, sounding a little breathless, as if he had run to get the phone.

Armie's mind immediately went to a certain night where Tim had been spread out beneath him, his wrists bound together with the soft red belt from the hotel room robe, every word he uttered in this deep, breathy tone—

“Yeah,” said Armie, feeling suddenly breathless himself. “Now what? Where am I going?”

“Patience, my friend,” said Tim.

“Patience? I hope you’re kidding. Otherwise I’d think you don’t know me at all.”

Tim laughed. “Okay, then pull out of the driveway and get yourself downtown.”

Armie hit the speaker button, set the phone in the cup holder, and shifted into reverse. “You should know that it’s a testament to how much I trust you that I’m doing this,” he said, “and not getting drunk in my room.”

“You can get drunk anytime,” said Tim. “Just drive, and talk to me.”

“About what?”

“I don’t care. Tell me how the kids are.”

Armie drove through the neighborhood, past lavish Christmas light displays that seemed to get crazier every year. “They’re great,” he said. “Ford is still unsure about what this Christmas thing is all about, but you should hear Harper patiently explaining to him, over and over, about Santa. He just nods seriously but looks so confused.”

“I miss them,” said Tim with a sigh. Something pinged in Armie’s chest at the sincerity he heard from Tim. The guy missed his kids. It was enough to make anyone melt, no matter their feelings.

“We’ll have to get you guys together sometime soon,” said Armie quietly. “They miss you, too.”

“It’ll be a while,” said Tim. “I’m going to be in France and Budapest for most of the next few months.”

Armie pulled onto the main road towards downtown, navigating through the substantial traffic. Lots of people who had left Christmas prep until the last minute. He would have too, if he had had to do more than find a handful of gifts. He left the rest of it up to Liz and her parents.

“Well,” said Armie, “no problem. We’ll just come to you.”

“You…” Tim paused. “You’d come to me? You mean in Europe? With the kids?”

“Sure. I’ve got some time off until May, and so...why not? Harper likes France and they’ve never been to Budapest.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and it went on for so long that Armie finally said, “Timmy?”

“I’m here,” Tim said. He didn’t say anything else, and Armie suddenly realized why.

“Hey, we don’t have to visit you if it’s...you’ll probably be too busy. I wasn’t thinking. Of course you don’t need me and two kids getting in your way.”

“No!” Tim’s voice exploded through the speaker. “No, sorry. I mean, you can come. I _want_ you to come. And bring the kids. I just…”

Armie waited, and when Tim didn’t continue, he asked, “You just what? Think it would be—“

“You’d really do that?”

“Do what? Come to visit you?”

“Yeah. You’d go to all that trouble?” Tim sounded suddenly hesitant.

“Tim, I followed you around the country presenting you with award after fucking award, and—“

“Right, but that was...we were...that was exposure for you too. The movie—“

“ _Fuck_ the movie,” said Armie, suddenly irritated. He yanked the wheel a little to hard to the left, cutting off a mini-van, and a horn blared at him in protest. “Fuck the movie, I didn’t do it for the movie, or for the exposure. I did it for you. I can’t believe you’d question that.”

“I—“

“No.” Armie veered into the right lane, looking for his exit. “You don’t get to suggest I only care about you because of the fucking _movie—“_

“Okay, stop—“

“And if I want to spend some of my time coming to visit you in Budapest or where-fucking-ever, then I’m going to do it, regardless of whether it does anything for my career—“

“Armie.”

“What?” Armie turned into the downtown area, sped through a yellow light, and earned another blare of a horn.

“I’m sorry.”

Tim’s voice cut through Armie’s haze of frustration and he immediately slowed, both the car and the pace of his thoughts. He sighed.

“I didn’t mean to question that you...that wasn’t what I meant, no matter how it sounds. I know you care about me. And please please _please_ visit me. That would be fucking amazing. With or without the kids.”

Armie turned down a side street. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I said okay.”

Tim huffed. “You’re saying okay, but is it really? I can’t—you can’t be mad at me tonight.”

“I’m not mad at you.” Armie wasn’t mad. He was frustrated, and his frustration wasn’t Tim’s fault. “I promise.”

“So you can go back to thinking I’m amusing and delightful?” Tim’s voice wavered slightly, and Armie would have given anything to be on the same continent so that he could wrap his arms around the kid.

“Yes. Already there. I never stopped thinking that.” Armie stopped at a red light, looked around, and realized he was driving aimlessly around the downtown area, with no idea what he was supposed to do next. “Hey,” he said. “I’m downtown. Now what?”

“You are?” Was it Armie’s imagination, or had Tim’s voice risen an octave? “Where _exactly_ are you?”

“Um….Arapahoe.”

“What’s the cross street?” asked Tim.

Armie peered at the sign on the corner. “19th.”

“Perfect. Turn onto 19th, and take it to California.”

Armie waited for the light to change. “Where are you sending me?” he asked.

“Armie, just…”

“Right. Patience.”

Tim chuckled. “See, you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks,” he said.

“Who exactly are you calling — okay, I’m approaching California,” said Armie.

“Turn right,” said Tim. “Then left on 17th.”

“Am I almost there?” asked Armie.

“Yes,” said Tim. “Are you on 17th yet?”

“Hang on, I have to get around this — yes. Now I am.”

“Take the next left.” Tim was sounding breathless again.

“What are you doing?” asked Armie. “Are you running up and down stairs or something?”

“No, I’m — don’t worry about it. When you turn left—”

“Done.”

“Okay,” said Tim. “Okay. You should see a Grand Hyatt on your right. Give your car to the valet and go inside.”

Armie dutifully pulled into the hotel entry. “Why couldn’t you just tell me you were sending me here?” asked Armie. “And _why_ exactly am I headed into a hotel in the middle of downtown Denver?”

“Armie.”

Armie rolled his eyes, but picked up his phone, switched it off speaker, and handed the keys over to the valet along with a folded bill.  He wished he could say this was odd behavior from TIm, but while the kid had never sent him on a wild goose chase in a strange city before...this sort of thing was totally up Tim’s alley. Even the slight cloak and dagger of it all was quintessential Timmy.

He nodded at the doorman and entered the posh lobby, looking around. “I’m in,” he said. “What now? Am I supposed to go to the bar, find the woman wearing the red hat, and say something like _the worst part of traveling is the jet lag_?”

Tim sputtered a laugh. “Almost,” he said. “Go up to the front desk.”

“I’m going. Hey, this is a nice place. I wonder what the pool is like.” Armie crossed the lobby towards the registration counter, taking in the understated, elegant decor. “I bet it’s a good one.”

“When you get to the desk,” said Tim, “collect the key that’s waiting under the name ‘Henry Lee.’”

_Henry Lee_. Armie stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“I said, when you get to the—”

“Yeah, I heard you,” said Armie, starting forward again. ‘Henry Lee’ was a name he had used as a travel pseudonym exactly once. It was a play on his kids’ names, Henry _Ford_ and _Harper_ Lee.

He had only used it once, because he hadn’t been able to bear using it again and muddying up the memories associated with it. He was a little annoyed Tim had chosen _that_ name tonight especially, when he had just been thinking —

“Hi, I’m Henry Lee,” said Armie to the clerk at the counter. “There should be a key for me.”

“Just a moment,” said the clerk. He went to a file on the back counter and rifled through it, returning with a plastic key card wrapped in a note. After glancing at the note, he removed it and handed the card to Armie. “Here you are, sir.”

“What does the note say?” asked Armie.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the clerk, crumbling up the note. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

Tim’s voice came through the phone. “Stop asking the poor guy questions,” he said. “Leave it alone and go up to room 1486.”

“Fine,” grumbled Armie. He found the elevator and jabbed at the button. “You know, this is a bit much, even for you.”

“What is?”

Armie stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for fourteen.

“This whole treasure hunt thing. Sending me to a hotel room? What did you do, set up a weed buy for me? You know that shit is legal here. I can just go into—”

“It’s not weed. Jesus, Armie, just go with the flow a second. Have fun.”

The elevator stopped and Armie stepped into the hallway. “Well, I’m trying to think what else could be waiting for me.” He paused. “You didn’t...please tell me you didn’t, like, set me up with a _hooker_ or something.”

“Armie. There is no...how close are you? Are you at the room yet?” Tim sounded suddenly on edge.

“Yeah.” Armie stopped outside room 1486, key card in hand. He could hear the strains of music — French hip hop, from the sound of it — coming from inside the room. “Timmy, what the hell am I about to walk into? Am I going to regret trusting you?”

There was a pause, and then Tim let out a shaky breath. “I’m hoping not,” he said. “Guess you’ll just have to open the door and see. And...just remember, I’m amusing and delightful.”

With a low curse, Armie slid the card into the lock, waited for the light to turn green, and then twisted the handle. He walked into the room, and his heart stopped dead in his chest. The small table in the corner was laid out with a charcuterie spread, and a bottle of something was chilling nearby. Standing next to the table—

“Tim?” asked Armie, when he could find his voice again. He looked at his phone, and then back at Tim. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re in Paris.”

“Apparently not,” said Tim. “Surprise.”

Armie slid the phone into his pocket and stared. Tim smiled nervously. He shrugged, and the shoulder of the white robe he was wearing slid down slightly.

It registered then that Tim was wearing a robe, of the high-quality hotel kind. It was white, and soft-looking, and fell to his knees. Underneath, his legs were bare, as if…

As Armie watched, Tim shifted from foot to foot, and then adjusted the belt of the robe.

The _red_ belt.

The last time he had seen a robe like that, white with a red belt, had been—

“Here.” Tim held out a glass of bubbling liquid. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

Armie took the glass and sniffed it, then took a sip. “Prosecco?” he asked. Tim nodded.

“Why don’t you...take off your coat,” said Tim. “I mean, you could turn around and leave right away, but you just got here, and…”

“Yeah.” As if on autopilot, still not sure what exactly was going on, Armie shrugged out of his coat and let it fall to the floor. “Tim…”

He glanced at the table again, the spread of meats and cheeses. He looked at the prosecco in his hand. He looked at Tim, in the robe with the red belt.

“This album,” said Armie. “This is...didn’t we…”

“Yes,” said Tim. “I’ve played this for you before. Once.”

“I remember,” said Armie. “It was...it was in…” he trailed off, unable to say it.

Tim swallowed. “Rome,” he said. “It was when we were in Rome.”

_Holy fuck._ Armie’s heart sped up. He could feel it pounding in his chest, and wondered if Timmy could hear it too.

“And the...food. That was in Rome, too. And the prosecco. The name at the front desk. The — you’re wearing — did you steal that robe?”

“No,” said Tim, giggling. “I ordered one. After we got home.”

Armie tried to make sense of what was happening. On the one hand, he was thinking _shit, shit, shit_ , because he didn’t know if he could handle being confronted with physical manifestations of Rome, of all places, on tonight, of all nights, when he was fragile enough to say _fuck it all_ and ruin everything by telling Tim exactly what had been plaguing him for all these months.

On the other hand...Tim had set this up. Tim had _set_ this _up._

“You made _Rome_ ,” said Armie. “You...why?”

Tim licked his lips. “Maybe I just wanted to surprise you and see you,” said Tim. “Because I’ll miss you, too, when I’m shooting in Europe and thought this would be one last chance to hang out.”

“You want to hang...out?” asked Armie. Something clicked in his brain, finally. “In your robe? From Rome?”

Tim shrugged, and the shoulder of the robe slipped a little more. “Yeah. If you want to. I thought—”

Armie took a step closer. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m fucking thrilled to see you,” said Armie. “But...why did you recreate Rome? We could have hung out without...that.”

They stared at each other. Armie watched Tim’s face, watched his nostrils flare and his eyebrows draw together and apart, and marveled at the myriad emotions he could _see_ playing out in front of him. After a minute, Tim’s jaw tightened and he seemed to make a decision.

He took a step toward Armie, and then another, until they were standing mere inches apart.

“I’ve been thinking about Rome a lot lately,” he said. “About the time we spent there. And I was wondering if you ever thought about it, too.”

Now Armie was _sure_ Tim could hear his heart beating. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening, but there were really only two choices. He could say _no, not really_ , then step around Tim and grab some prosciutto and ask what movies were available on demand, and in a few hours go right back to his life. Or he could say _god yes, every second of my life_ , and...see what happened next.

The first choice was safe. It would allow them both to go on as they had been, not upset the apple cart, or whatever the fucking phrase was.

The second…

Armie thought about the past year since Rome, the way he had looked at Tim, searching for any indication that that night had meant anything to Tim. Anything at all. He thought about his long runs, his feet pounding on the pavement, trying to sweat out these messy _things_ he was feeling for his best friend. He thought about huddling in his in-laws’ basement bathroom on the night before Christmas Eve, cherishing the private phone call with Tim, and wishing he could have more.

“God yes,” said Armie. “Every second—”

Tim’s lips were on Armie’s, then, his wiry arms wrapping around Armie’s neck. Armie let out a strangled sound and grabbed Tim’s hips, yanking him close. The kiss went on for weeks. Years. Seconds. Whatever it was, when Tim pulled back, Armie sucked in a breath as if he hadn’t breathed oxygen in days.

Tim laughed breathlessly. “Thank fucking god,” he said. “Jesus _christ_ , Armie. What the fuck?”

Armie frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what the fuck?’” Had he read things wrong? Had he...no, because Tim had kissed _him_ , not the other way around.

“It’s been a _year_. A fucking year.”

“I know,” said Armie.

“If you thought about it, why didn’t you fucking say anything?” asked Tim. He leaned forward again and ran his nose along the underside of Armie’s jaw, and Armie slid his arms from Tim’s hips to circle his waist.

“Why didn’t _I_ say anything?” Armie made a frustrated sound. “You didn’t say anything either.”

“That’s because as soon as we left Rome, you...you acted like nothing had happened. I almost thought I had imagined...that I had imagined…”

“Me fucking you and you fucking me until we couldn’t walk straight?”

“Yes. That,” said Tim, with a laugh. “We had a night of crazy...I don’t even know what. It felt like we were...like we had tipped into something. And then you just...it was all _hey Timmy, let’s smoke a joint, pal_ and _Timmy, you ever think about what kind of a girl you’ll marry someday_?”

Armie cringed. He remembered that last question. He had been trying to get a read on Tim, trying to figure out if Rome had just been some semi-drunken blip or if it meant something. He had also been trying to save their friendship if Rome had, in fact, been a blip. A mistake.

“Shit,” said Armie. “I was so afraid I had fucked up our friendship that I was overcompensating. I didn’t want you to think that...if you regretted what had happened...that we couldn’t stay friends.”

“I didn’t regret anything,” said Tim. “Except the fact that you seemed to.”

“I didn’t,” said Armie. “I definitely didn’t regret it.”

Tim rested his forehead against Armie’s chest.

“Timmy,” Armie whispered, “are you really here? Are you really offering me...what exactly are you offering me?”

Tim didn’t look up. Instead, he spoke into Armie’s shirt, his voice soft and hesitant.

“Everything,” said Tim. “I’m offering you everything. Anything you want from me. You want to be friends, I’m your best friend. You want to...occasionally...enjoy each other, I’m on board. And if you want more…” he trailed off, then tipped his head up and smiled. “Well. I made us Rome. Isn’t that a pretty good romantic gesture?”

“Yeah,” said Armie. “It is.” He leaned down and kissed Tim forcefully, sending up multiple prayers of thanks. He pulled back just barely, so that his lips brushed against Tim’s as he spoke. “And if you’re offering everything, then I’ll take it. Tim...I’ll offer it right back.”

Later, curled around each other in the king-sized bed, Armie buried his nose in Tim’s curls and breathed deeply.

“You even smell like Rome,” said Armie. “How the hell did you manage that?”

Tim wiggled a little. “I stole the soap,” he said. “A whole bunch of it. From the maid’s cart.”

Armie burst out laughing and pulled Tim tight against him. He would need to go eventually, head back to his in-law’s house. Liz was arriving the next day. He’d have to figure out exactly what it was he was planning to do about this development in his life. There would be a lot of talking. Some yelling. Confusion. But that was tomorrow. For now…

...for now, he was in Rome.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered in Tim’s ear. “And to all a good night.”


End file.
